


The Gerbil King

by Temporarily



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Absurd, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Renly Lives, Comedy, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hints at Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Melisandre takes matters into her own hands, This Is STUPID, Whoops her mistake, because MAGIC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporarily/pseuds/Temporarily
Summary: A Happier Ending where Melisandre turns Renly into a gerbil instead of outright killing him. Don't ask why.





	1. An Inconvenient Curse

Brienne of Tarth and Lady Stark are the only witnesses to Renly Baratheon's disappearance. Both of them swear up and down that they'd seen a shadow of a woman stretch along the wall and tap him on the shoulder, and in the next instant a small rodent was scampering away from the now-hollow shell of his splendid armor. No one can think of a logical reason for why they would lie, but since such a thing is so preposterous, they're largely written off as hysterical. The way Brienne keeps looking under furniture and calling out her Lord's name doesn't help their case.  

Which leaves those present with several significant problems. Renly's armies are hours away from what could be the deciding battle, and  _there is no Renly to be found._ No one to unite all the banner-men, no one to call the shots, no one they're supposed to report to. At least if there was a corpse they could set out to avenge him. But there is nothing. Their liege is gone despite the guards stationed less than ten meters away—who hadn't seen a thing until the clatter of armor and Lady Stark's shriek alerted them-- and chaos threatens. 

Loras—wrestling with a fair amount of hysteria of his own—calls an emergency meeting with what members of the Rainbow Guard they can recall from the field. They reached a consensus: No one can know of this until after the battle. They need to stall for more time.  

Their solution: To have the Knight of Flowers don the King's armor and ride into battle in his stead. Loras buries his fears and uncertainty in the haze of slaughter.   

The next twenty-four hours are hell.  

*** 

It's a day and a half later, after Stannis's forces are beaten into retreat, that Loras is able to return to his tent for his first significant period of rest in forty-eight hours. He staggers through the flap, works off one boot and then the other, and collapses on his bed with a profound and weary sigh.  

He stiffens as a knock comes from under the bed.  

After grabbing the nearest sharp pointy thing (there are quite a lot in this camp), he investigates under his bed, and finds Renly. Naked, disheveled, covered in dirt, wide-eyed and shivering. Loras takes a step back and glares in a way that would have anyone with the barest hint of self-preservation eyeing the hunting knife in his hand.  

" _Have you gone completely insane?!_ You did NOT disappear right before an important battle to spend it hiding in my tent!!" Renly crawls out from his hidey-hole and grasps at Loras's hand like a drowning man, clearly traumatized. It takes a few more shaky breaths before he's able to stutter out: 

"I— _I was a_ _gerbil_." And then: "Who's bloody idea was it to have so many seven-damned  _hawks_ in this camp?!" Not many would believe him. But his obvious distress is enough to sway Loras.  

*** 

The next day is spent recovering. At least, that's the excuse Loras uses when he puts off the meeting of lords and generals until just after sunset. There are already rumors circulating all throughout camp. That their leader has been assassinated, he's been whisked away by a demon or the Crone, he's been struck down in battle and now there is a power vacuum, or the rumors that make Loras's blood boil: That he's abandoning them all. That he's hiding.  

First of all, Loras has faith that Renly would never abandon them, and of  _course_ you hide when you suddenly find you have whiskers and a tail! It's a matter of survival!  

Not that anyone except the most eccentric believe Brienne and Lady Catelyn's tale. Speaking of, both ladies fled during the battle, which was probably wise.  

Minutes before the meeting is about to commence, Loras gathers the five remaining Rainbow Guard in Renly's private tent.  

"It appears that we owe Brienne an apology, should she decide to return to us," he announces. And then: "I found our Lord." And then he brings a gerbil out of his pocket and places it on the table.  

They all look at Loras, wondering if he needs to be institutionalized. But Lord Tyrell holds his hand up in a gesture to wait, staring at the gap in the tent flap as the last dredges of twilight fade away. 

The instant the sun sets, there's a man sitting on the table in place of the gerbil. The table, unaccustomed to supporting such a drastic shift in weight, topples over and sends the man sprawling.  

Loras helps him up, offers him his cloak, and as soon as the King manages to collect his tattered dignity he flashes his knights his most charming smile. 

"Well, this is a terribly inconvenient curse." 


	2. Chapter 2

All the Lords are relieved to see that the guy they've been backing does in fact appear to be alive, and just as charming, poised, and raring to take down anyone who stands between him and King's Landing as ever. There are, however, a few obvious problems that needed to be addressed, and even more that needed to be obscured. 

"Why a gerbil?" Loras asks him, just two minutes before sunrise, exhausted and with bags under his eyes but unwilling to let even one precious second slip by. "If Stannis's Witch is this powerful, why didn't she kill you outright?" 

"You're right, he would have ordered her to kill me," Renly agrees, peeking out a flap of canvas at the steadily lightening horizon. "My Brother's not the kind to leave things up to chance. I can only guess that she wished to humiliate me before my demise, to render me powerless and then leave me as good as dead. After all, even if I did manage to survive everything trying to squish or eat me, it's not like gerbils have especially long lifespans." There is a heavy silence as they both consider the full implications of this curse. Loras grips Renly's sleeve tightly, like he can prevent the inevitability of magical means through sheer willpower. He presses a firm kiss to his lover's lips.

"We'll fix this," he says, an unofficial oath. "We'll find a way to break this curse if I have to drive my sword through Melisendre's wretched heart myself." Renly smiles, and he starts to say something, to move closer, but the first ray of light breaks over the new day and he's gone, three inches tall and furry once again. 

***

Despite all anticipation, it is in fact still the tail end of Summer, which is inconvenient, because the days are incredibly long. The whole court's schedule shifts to reflect Renly's new nocturnal habits. Important meetings start no earlier than eleven, and between these late nights and the constant travel the Lords begin to wear down. Countless rumors wind their way around the campfires, trying to explain why their King is never seen by daylight. 

"You can't keep this up forever My Lord," Ser Robar beseeches. "Sooner or later, they're going to start demanding an explanation." Renly merely comments on the incredible poetic irony of the fact that the ruler of what has been widely dubbed The Summer Court can no longer exist in the presence of sunlight, but is instead condemned to darkness, and changes the topic. 

"She couldn't have even spared the courtesy of turning me into a Stag," he complains later, looking wistfully at the glorious (some would say tacky) antlers on his helm. Loras says,

"You should count yourself lucky, a Stag would be impossible to hide." The Baratheon only pouts with greater force. 

And still later: "You don't think this is the kind of curse True Love's Kiss would break, do you?" Renly smirks and answers,

"I doubt it, but you're welcome to try." Sadly, Melisandre's magic doesn't work in accordance to the rules of fairy tales, but it was an inspired attempt.

***

Lord Foxglove is the first to leave. His absence is noted at a feast one evening and the next morning, his troops are gone.

One by one, the others start defecting as well. Some scamper back to their halls, and some of them swallow their reluctance and are seen among Stannis's troops a few weeks later. Apparently a widely-hated King is still better than a well-beloved one with chronic issues concerning punctuality. Some even try to side with the Lannisters. 

The worst blow comes when Lord Caron, Ser Morrigen, and Ser Crane—half of the remaining Rainbow Guard—all up and leave, trickling back towards Stannis. 

Loras throws a tantrum. "TRAITORS!" A helmet goes flying. "THEY SWORE AN OATH!!!" Several more objects are flung around the tent as he goes on about spineless leeches devoid of honor, unfit to wear their mantels or guard anyone of note, much less a king. He quiets a bit when he feels arms wrapping around his waist and a chin tucking into his shoulder. 

"All true," Renly says placatingly, "But now, only the best remain. The ones with honor, the ones who believe in my claim to the throne. The ones I can trust." Loras shivers and tries to shift gears from murderous to tense. The next time he sees Caron, Morrigen or Crane he is going to  _slaughter_ them. "How much have you been sleeping, Loras?"

"Enough," the knight lies. Renly frowns in a disapproving manner and turns the blond to face him.

"You stay awake all day watching over me, and then you stay up half the night." 

"It's my duty to protect you--"

"You won't be able to protect anything if you faint under the weight of your own armor." Loras scowls, ready to protest that he doesn't want or need sleep. If he can't have the heads of traitors on a platter, he at least wants sex.

It's yet another thing he hates about this infuriating curse. The nights used to be theirs. Admittedly things got more complicated when Renly married his sister (who he is  _still_ keeping at an arm's length, and Loras is getting tired of fending off her ladies-in-waiting, ready to just ride to the back of the vanguard and explain the whole gerbil story himself), but they still managed. Even when they couldn't spend the night together, there were still stolen moments during the day, hurried kisses in the rare instances they were out of sight alleviating the tension of going so long near each other and being unable to touch. 

Now, with those moments halved and the rest of Renly's agenda dedicated to maintaining his scope of power, they've barely gotten any time together at all. And a childish, selfish part of Loras resents that he can't have every single moment Renly has left.

And now the King is dragging him to bed, but in that gentle, you're-going-to-get-some-actual-rest way. Loras wants to pull away, to slide down to his knees and pleasure him. Time is more precious than ever, and he's determined to stay up until dawn. Loras wants to be fucked so thoroughly that all the fools who can't see the brilliance in this man—who somehow can't see he is better fit to rule than any brat of a child or lobster pretending to be a Lord—they are the furthest possible thing from his mind. 

But Loras is exhausted, and his lover is persistent, and it doesn't take much coaxing for him to abandon attempts at seduction in favor of surrendering to unconsciousness in a comforting embrace. 

He awakens to its absence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Melisandre's powers weaken when the sun—literally the biggest fire in the solar system and a significant symbol of her god—goes down. She didn't expect this to affect the curse. She honestly probably didn't even expect Renly to survive the first night.


	3. Chapter 3

Renly's army is now a third of the size it once was, which is still substantial enough to sprawl across the space between villages. The reduced numbers mean increased speed, and they outpace Stannis's forces easily. But arriving first to the battlefield is a bit of a moot point of they don't have the numbers to win. As they get closer and closer to King's Landing, Renly gets closer and closer to a complete breakdown. 

"Robar is right... Loras, what am I doing?!" It's one in the morning, plans for the next week of travel have been established, and the King is clutching at his hair, slumped over a desk. Loras is starting to consider confiscating his third tankard of ale. "This whole campaign is absurd! For Father's sake I'm a rodent half the time, how the hell am I going to tear down the Lions of Lannister?! They can  _literally_ eat me alive!!! The weight of the crown could crush my tiny body! No one's going to let a _gerbil_  sit the Iron Throne!" The knight begins carding his fingers through his Lord's hair in a soothing manner. He uses this distraction to discreetly move the tankard further away.

"Just keep it together Renly. One thing at a time. First, we defeat Stannis and break your curse. Then we worry about your coronation." 

"There won't BE a coronation if his troops catch up to us while we're in the middle of a siege!!!" 

"Everything will be _fine,_ " Loras insists. "You just need a brilliant strategy to take the Keep quickly."

"I'm not a strategist Loras, and half of my generals are incompetent fools while the other half can't be trusted!" The general in the room raises his eyebrows. "Not you, obviously," Renly amends, taking his lover's hand and brushing a kiss across the knuckles. 

"Good." 

"Is there any word from Robb Stark?"

"It all depends on whether the Lannisters will grant the North independence. They likely won't accept our offer unless the Joffrey refuses outright." 

"Which means they're going to put off giving them an answer as long as possible." The King sighs, and stares at the map in front of him, trying to see a way out of the messy situation that is quickly spiraling out of control.

"...I feel like I'm marching towards my death." 

"That's just the gerbil instincts talking. I'm not going to let you die." Renly gives a wry smile.

"My dear Loras, you are an excellent knight, but even you can't out-duel death."

"I won't need to out-duel death, because he's not going to get anywhere near you."

Renly is silent for a few moments. He tugs the tankard back to his side of the table, finishes it off with a few deep gulps, slams it on the table (tries not to think about fears of turning into Robert) and says,"Fuck it, let's elope."

_"...What?"_

"Let's elope! Screw this, screw the crown and screw this war and the Lannisters and my brother and the fucking Starks! I don't have to wait until someone figures out my weakness and puts a bunch of starving cats in this camp!" The Knight of Flowers shakes his head.

"Renly, there are people following you! They believe that you're the ruler we need!"

"And now I owe them my life because they marched halfway across this forsaken pustule of continent with me?! No, fuck it! If saving my hide is cowardly then I choose cowardice!" Loras looks scandalized. 

"You're even drunker than I thought." Renly drags Loras onto his lap and wraps his arms around the knight's neck with clumsy movements. 

"Let's run away together," he says, and Loras starts to pray that this isn't a legitimate request because he would hate it, it would go against every code he strives to uphold, but if it really came down to it he would follow. Unquestionably. "You can keep me in your pocket and feed me bread crumbs when the sun is up, and we'll board a ship across the sea, get the hell off this bloody continent. Or maybe we'll see the Southern coast of Dorn, or even hide out in the woods. We can be hermits in a cottage with a vegetable patch."

"There aren't hot baths in the woods Renly," the blond reasons. "You would have to carry water from the closest source, heat it up, and pour it into a tub every single day. And you wouldn't get any fancy soaps or oils." The dark-haired man frowns as the illusion shatters, and he groans with disappointment. He can't live without luxurious baths. 

"Shit, you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

"Well then, what the hell do I do?! Going to Kings Landing is suicidal!" Loras considers the map, smiles, and says,

"Why don't we go East instead?" Renly follows the path he traces with a finger, and he grins.

"Sir Loras Tyrell, you're a genius!" It isn't quite genius, but it's a better plan than the one they had before. The Knight of Flowers looks very smug when he asks,

"Do I get a reward?" Renly pulls Loras down and kisses him until his senses are reeling, and then gives a little more. 

***

It takes ages and saving her life on multiple occasions before Brienne of Tarth will tell Jamie what the hell happened to Renly Baratheon. 

There are so many interesting lies and half-truths. Many claim that the youngest Baratheon is dead, and his followers are trying to cover it up. Some say he's still ruling as a ghost, or something equally unnatural, or there's an imposter in his place. But Jamie knows that Robb Stark was getting letters from someone who—if they weren't actually Renly, was using his name. Sooo... What the fuck?

Brienne swears him to secrecy first (and he's proud on some level to have proven himself, that she would trust the word of the Kingslayer), and she's nervous when she tells him, fairly certain that he'll call her a liar and demand further explanation. But Jaime laughs, so hard and for so long that she starts to become concerned for the state of his gut. 

Renly Baratheon is trying to seize the throne as a motherfucking gerbil. 

Unbelievable. Hysterical. He wishes he could tell his sister. She would be so delighted.

***

Margery stares at the dark-furred fluff ball with a slightly tufted tail, two tiny ears, minuscule paws and beady dark eyes. She picks it up, nuzzles it against her cheek and announces,"He's a lot cuter like this." Loras laughs, and the gerbil looks indignant. 

***

They stay behind in Highgarden when Loras travels with his brothers to fight in what would become known as The Battle of Blackwater Bay. While an alliance with the Lannisters is distasteful, it's better than Stannis, because really, fuck Stannis. 

They wait for the ravens to come in with tidings good or ill, and Renly has new sympathy for the women left behind when men go off to war, because waiting and uncertainty  _sucks._ He spends most of his time stowed away in Margery's chambers like a princess in a tower, which leads to some interesting and long-overdue conversations about the nature of their relationship, and of his relationship with her brother. Only her closest ladies-in-waiting, her family, and the allies Renly is willing to gamble trusting know his general location, and even fewer people know the reason for it. 

Then the letters and reports start flying in. They won—thank the Seven—but the game is still in play. Loras was grievously injured, and Queen Cerci seems to be hinting at strengthening the Lannister-Tyrell alliance with a marriage proposal. 

"They're all assuming I'm dead!" Renly says once he's read the parchment, half astonished that he's managed to keep a low enough profile for this assumption to be made, and half offended that they would demand Margery's hand without knowing for sure.

"To be fair love, you have been getting more and more reclusive."

"Yes, which works out for me, but now they want to hand you off to that beastly little nephew of mine!" Nephew or step-nephew in law, either way. Renly doesn't want to think so ill of his deceased brother, to assume Robert wouldn't _even_ _notice_ if Cerci had been fucking her brother, but at the same time, he wouldn't be surprised if Robert remained clueless til his dying day. 

Margery pauses her needlepoint, purses her lips and mulls over the issue for a bit. "Grandmother will know what to do."

A Tyrell-plus-in-laws family meeting is called. Plans are made. A raven with a carefully worded letter is sent to Garlan. They depart for King's Landing the very next morning, flying as fast as the carriages will carry them. House by house, Renly's army will follow. 

***

A gerbil is surprisingly easy to sneak into the Red Keep. Despite the unwavering attention thrown their way, no one questions the lump in the concealed pocket of the Queen-to-be's skirts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of time-skipping in this chapter. In all the chapters really. I've got three giant books and five seasons to get through, time skips are convenient.   
> One day, I may actually write the one where Renly and Loras decide to elope. That could be a Modern AU so I can have some Brotherly Disapproval™. Another time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short and mostly dialogue, so I'll post the next as well.

Arriving back in his chambers from the disastrous and miserable wedding of Sansa Stark to find his lover hiding under the bed is the best surprise Loras Tyrell has had in a long time. 

_"Where have you been?"_ he gasps after embracing Renly hard enough to produce the sound of creaking ribs and peppering him with kisses. "Margery arrived weeks ago!"

"Hiding in the walls mostly," Renly replies with a grin. "You wouldn't believe how many secret passages there are in this castle. The people here don't have any awareness of all the potential eavesdroppers. Um..." He readjusts his cloak, which is the only article of clothing he has on. The rest is, presumably, hidden in the walls. "I don't suppose you could loan me a pair of pants?"

"Absolutely not." Loras shoves him down on the bed and pounces. They have quite a bit of catching up to do. 

***

"So," Renly murmurs some time later, enjoying the opportunity to run his fingers through Loras' golden curls. "Rumor has it you almost got married off to Sansa Stark." The knight looks up from where he's pillowed against Renly's chest and scowls. Renly raises his eyebrows and smirks. The blond sighs.

"At first, I was against it. I wouldn't be able to love her the way she wishes, which didn't seem fair to her."

"Mmhmm."

"But then Margery bullied me into it. I knew that she needed protection, and I could tell how much her safety meant to Marge..." Renly nods.

"So, you agreed to rescue the fair maiden?" 

"Except I didn't propose before the damn Lannisters snatched her away!" Loras spits, becoming increasingly agitated. He sits up and continues, "And now they've asked me to join the Kingsgaurd, and I don't think I could stomach swearing loyalty to that little prick without puking all over his boots!" Renly makes a sympathetic noise. 

"Not a good look with white robes." 

"Not helpful Renly!! Besides, if I swore that oath I would be breaking every vow I made to you and I..." He cuts off, shaking his head. "That's not an option." 

"Aww, how sweet." The almost-king gathers his grumbling lover back into his arms for more cuddles. 

"...Also, Oberyn Martell keeps trying to seduce me," Lorace mutters somewhat reluctantly. Renly immediately looks intrigued. 

"Oh really? I didn't hear about _that._ "

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't, he's not exactly subtle about it. I haven't given in yet, but he's persistent." 

"Frankly Loras, I'm not sure why you're bothering to resist at all." The knight gives him an incredulous look. 

"Clearly, because of this?" he says, reaching down to squeeze between his lover’s legs.

"Alright, fair, but still, _Oberyn_ _Martell--_ "

"And here I was hoping you would fight on behalf of my honor," Loras gripes.

Renly grins and whispers in his ear, "We could invite him for a threesome." The blond hits his arm.

" _Renly, n_ _o_ _!_ A threesome with the Red Viper of Dorne is not on anyone’s agenda! Except maybe Ellaria’s."

"Hell, we could go ahead and make it a foursome, I doubt your sister would min--" Loras leans forward to forcibly shut his idiot king up. 


	5. Chapter 5

Joffrey's wedding does not go well, for a number of reasons. The first of which is Renly Fucking Baratheon, who strides into the feast hall in the middle of Tywin's speech like he owns the place, dressed just as splendidly (some would call it tacky) as is his personal standard. 

The Tyrells are the first to stand to attendance, and others follow. Everyone who swore him their loyalty—and even a few who deserted him—rise, giving the Lannisters an apt visual representation of how this party might go down if the guards with blades against Renly Baratheon's throat are given orders to gut him. Many in the room look like they're seeing a ghost. Brienne of Tarth, who scrambles to her feet a few seconds late, looks like she’s seeing the resurrection of a god. Oberyn and Jamie look amused. Olenna Tyrell looks sly, the rest of the Tyrells look proud to stand with him, and Loras looks deeply proud _of_ him. Margery plays her part well, a mixture of shock, relief, and a bit of fear featured on her face. 

"Lord Renly," Cerci grits—almost growls. Renly inclines his head, which does little to hide how he is grinning from ear to ear.

"Your Majesty."

"I do not recall inviting you this wedding." 

"Yes, a bit rude, don't you think? Especially considering the groom is my nephew and the bride is my own wife." 

"What do you want, traitor?!" Joffrey shrieks, turning a shade of furious red that's verging on purple, not helped by all the alcohol he's already consumed. 

"Only to swear my loyalty to the new King of Westeros.” And even though Renly's tone is mocking, he takes a knee. 

Joffrey opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid like, "I don't need your loyalty, OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" but Cerci kicks him under the table and hisses at him to be quiet. He might not be able to see it, but Cerci and Tywin Lannister can. Renly offers not just his own oath of loyalty, but cements those of everyone who stands with him. So long as he remains dedicated to the crown, his supporters in the court and the commoners who love him will as well. 

"There are a few conditions, of course," Renly clarifies. Cerci resists the urge to let her son pass judgment then and there. 

"Name your terms," Tywin says.

"First, I'd appreciate it this union was declared null, seeing dear Margery is already spoken for." The two share the briefest of smug glances from across the room. The Hand of The King nods in agreement.   


"Perfectly understandable."

"Grandpa!!" Joffrey cries in protest, unwilling to lose his new favorite play-thing. He is largely ignored. 

"Second, I find myself under curse by Stannis' Red Priestess Melisandre, and cannot be seen by the light of day." It's close enough to the truth. "I want this curse broken, and the Red Witch dead." Tywin stalls just long enough to consider whether he should call bullshit and remind Renly that magic isn’t real, or just go along with it. 

"It will be done," he eventually replies. After all, what’s one more enemy dead? "Is that all?" 

"I could go on, but those are the important bits." 

"Is everyone going to accept this traitor's word?!" Cerci pushes. "He says he's been cursed by a witch—this is preposterous! Do you have proof of this so-called curse?"

"Cerci," Tywin says in warning, silently urging her to let him handle damage control. She backs down, still seething. "We shall see—or not, as the seven would have it—the validity of his claims come morning.” Excellent. Renly plans to be deep in the crannies of palace walls come morning. “Shall we continue the celebrations?" the head of House Lannister suggests to all present. They all commence with the celebrating.

"What's the point of celebrating if I'm not getting married?!" the young King whines. Cerci does her best to calm him with, "There there dear," and, "We can still celebrate your great achievements. All your enemies are either dead, beaten, or they've surrendered!" As the dinner commences, the lioness shoots Renly the kind of look that lets him know he's going to have to look over his shoulder for Cerci Lannister's claws the rest of his life. He's not sure what he's done deserve that kind of wrath, it's not his fault that merely being alive has just humiliated and greatly inconvenienced her family.

Oh, wait. 

Renly is not expecting Joffrey to kneel over and die an hour or two later, but he doesn’t complain. When Tywin shows up equally dead on the privy and they need a new Hand, King Tommen summons him and asks him—fueled by adorable hero-worship left over from days before the war, when Renly was competing with Jamie for the title of "favorite uncle"—to fill the position. 

He can only reply: "With all due respect Your Majesty, _no._ " Renly Baratheon has learned that there are two kinds of power: The kind that will help you preserve yourself and those you love, and the kind that will get you killed within a year. It can sometimes be hard to tell the difference, but since every single Hand of the King within memory has died in a tragic or gruesome fashion, this power is easily identifiable as the latter. 

Tommen understands, better perhaps than some might think he does. He names his great uncle Kevan Lannister as Hand, and then heads to bed, because it's way past his sleepy-time. The next day Renly buys the kid a set of toy knights to thank him for the offer. 

***

They make it through the coming winter together, Renly and Loras and Margery. Through all the shifts in power and murder and deadly religious zeal (there is a _terrifying_ month where Renly and Loras are outed, and the Sparrows come swooping down on all three of them, but hey, prior planning, connections, and being a part-time gerbil can make for some great escape routes), against threats of both ice and fire, they navigate with as much cunning as they can muster and only as much power as is necessary. Their advantage is that they, unlike nearly everyone else, aren't needlessly trying to grab more money, more loyalty, more positions, and this seems to be something other people have a hard time wrapping their head around. They merely try to maintain what they already have, and they understand that nothing is a more important to hold on to than the time you have left and the people you want to spend it with. 

After all, there's hardly any point in having access to the finer things the world has to offer—such as fresh fruit, warm baths, or the company of loved ones—if you're not around to enjoy them.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. A more detailed Epilogue that doesn’t fit with the flow of the story: Margery probably finds a way to rescue Sansa. When tales of White Walkers and Magic comes down South, most will scoff. Magic? How absurd. But Renly and Loras kind of share a little side-glance of terror, because they know magic is definitely a thing, and Renly promptly orders several thousand men up North commanded by Loras to defend the wall. They get on famously with his brothers’ troops, and have to make a hasty retreat when Loras shanks Melisandre in an attempt to end the curse. Who actually wins the war? -- Who knows? Mr. Martin hasn't finished the books yet and I haven't watched the show, so. 
> 
> Thank you to every lovely person who left comments and kudos, your responses prompted me to keep going when I was so nervous about the sheer campiness of this story that I was tempted to never share it all. I sincerely hope this nonsense made you smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I just wanted my favorite King to survive by any means necessary, okay? Y'all can understand that.  
> 


End file.
